Within
by ParallaxNoir
Summary: In which Dean has a conversation with someone who sees beyond the walls he builds himself. (Destiel)


**Dislcaimer: I own nothing of Supernatural. I just get to sit and admire and write fanfiction from afar.**

Within

"My name's Elizabeth," I said, smiling as I sipped from my wine. As the liquid washed over my tongue, I tried my hardest to focus on finding the tart taste of the grapes beneath the gnaw of the alcohol. I found that if I focused hard enough on the little details around me, I could almost forget to stare at him.

Dean smiled and nodded. "It's nice to meet you, Elizabeth." He readjusted himself on his barstool, shifting to rest his elbow on the bar top. He was the picture of relaxation and ease. "Name's Dean." I took his motion as an excuse to tear my eyes from his face, tracing my gaze instead down the slant of his arm to the counter of the bar. I let a slight shiver run through me as he said his name, and instead of looking back up to his face, I busied myself tracing over the scratches and dents in the polished wood surface of the bar top with my fingertip.

I nodded and slid the strap of my dress back up over my shoulder. It seemed to have a habit of slipping down, and I made a mental note to figure out how to tighten the straps. I took the chance to look back up into his face and smiled. "Hello, Dean." I uncrossed and re-crossed my legs as I had seen the most successfully flirtatious women do, and it didn't escape my notice when Dean's eyes darted down to my knees and then back up into my face. "So. What do you do?"

He grinned, his eyes glinting with his own private humor. "FBI."

I raised my eyebrows. "Wow." Impressive. I suppose I could see it. He carried himself with such confidence, and I knew you couldn't fake that kind of authority. The way he looked over a room, seeing every person, every object, every nuance. He took in everything around him. Saw it, understood it, owned it. Yes, there was confidence. Though it was more than that. "What's that like?"

He shrugged naturally, taking a drink from his beer. "It's not easy. There are a lot of sick freaks out there. But I like helping people."

_I like helping people._

He said it so off-handedly. Almost like it was just another part of the job. But I knew it was more than that. When I looked into those eyes that glinted emerald I didn't see the confidence and the strength and the stone-cold sobriety he put on to face the horrors of his everyday life. I didn't see the man who shrugged off his emotions like another bad vibe that would just go away if he ignored it. The bad intentions of people and violence brewed straight from the dregs of Hell didn't roll off of him as easily as came the jokes he made to cover up the pain. Where you could look into a lesser man's eyes and see only laughter, expectancy, and self-interest, what I saw in Dean's was hardship, survival, and pain. And then, beneath that, the kindness, the patience, and the sincerity.

I thought all of these things in a second, but before they could pass my lips, I felt them catch in my throat, tripping all over one another until they became a confused, tangled mess of the things I knew I could never say. "What a good person," was all I could manage.

Dean laughed and set down his beer. "I don't know if I'd say _that_. But I try."

I frowned, shaking my head in earnest, my carefully curled golden locks bouncing against either side of my face. "You help people. You save them. You fight against the evils that hurt them. You're no less than a hero."

Dean looked down instantly, drawing circles in the condensation of his glass with his thumb. His expression had darkened, and he looked through his eyes without focus, lost deep in an ocean of thoughts that threatened to drown. After a moment he said quietly, "I'm no hero."

As I watched him, I heard the sympathy in the back of my head and had to beat it back. Dean didn't deserve sympathy or pity. He wasn't just some kicked animal to be soothed back into joy and contentment with empty words and careless comforts. There were no words, there was no gesture, there was no _person_ who could fix this.

_As much as it hurt me, I knew there was no person who could fix this._

I might have known that there wasn't a person in the world who could do or say what it took to make anything okay, but for some reason that didn't stop me. Without thinking, I reached out and took his hand. His rough and calloused skin brushed against the softness of my palm, and I was overwhelmed with this need to help him. To be there.

_To save him._

I squeezed his hand and spoke softly. "You only have to be a hero to one person in the world for it to be worth it."

Dean looked up and back into my eyes, and all traces of playful flirtation and charm were gone. The veil of ease and contentment had fallen, and it was only what was really and truly Dean in that moment that remained. I felt that for just a moment I was able to look past the wall he had built behind his eyes to keep people away from the feeling and emotion and pain and vulnerability that he kept locked up there. And as I looked right through past every layer of armor he wore to protect himself from the pain of attachment and loss, I felt him looking right back into me. For a moment I felt his gaze at a deeper level than I felt his hand in mine, and I felt for sure that in that second he really, truly saw me.

And then the moment was over, and he smiled charmingly. "Your turn. What do you do, Elizabeth?" He let go of my hand to take up his beer again.

"I'm a secretary in a law firm." I sat back, taking up my composure with more ease that I had expected. I sipped from my wine and fixed my dress strap again.

"And how's that?" He adjusted the cuff of his jacket sleeve, and I caught him steal a glance at his watch. I could hear the end of his much practiced small talk script approaching, and I realized my time was almost up.

"It's fine. Not the most exciting job in the world, but it gets me through." I paused a moment, ignoring the confusion and questions at the back of my head. The greater part of me wanted to make him stay. To keep this conversation going, even if it were only mundane, for as long as possible. But I knew better. I knew I couldn't. "Do you need to be somewhere?" I nodded to his watch.

Dean took the accusation easily, and shrugged it off. "Not really. My brother wanted my help with something, but he can wait."

_My brother._ That was it. It was over. I shook my head and smiled. "I don't want to keep you from your brother." I finished my drink and picked up my purse, standing to leave. I scrawled a phone number down on the edge of my napkin for good measure and slid it over to him.

Dean frowned, looking somewhat surprised. "It's really okay. If you want to get out of here…"

Despite the words of consent and agreement in the back of my head (which hardly surprised me, considering just how… attractive he was), I declined. "Family first." I leaned down and kissed his cheek.

But as I pulled away he leaned to meet me and caught my lips in a kiss. I was instantly hit by the warmth and the softness of his kiss with enough intensity that I had to fight to keep my balance. Feeling those lips, those lips that I had watched so many times, against mine with the slight pressure of the kiss… A kiss that if for only a moment locked us together, was nearly more than I could bear. It took all of the control I possessed to casually pull away at the end of the moment and smile back at him. "Goodbye, Dean."

Dean grinned and leaned back, taking a generous swig from his beer. "Bye, Elizabeth. I'll call you."

I nodded and turned away, knowing full well I wouldn't be around to take that call.

As I walked away from Dean Winchester, I heard questions I couldn't answer at the back of my head, and I spoke inwardly.

"Thank you, Elizabeth."

"Of course, Castiel. How could I refuse the request of an angel of the Lord?"


End file.
